Pieces of Us
by cristina rosales
Summary: His heart burst. Her red hair fluttered in the breeze. He stroked the soft fur. She opened her mouth and began to sing. [collection of random oneshots]
1. White Petals, Red Dress

**A/N: This is a fanfiction alternating between Clove's real wedding, and a pretend wedding her group of friends played. It's kinda like a flashback. (Just wanted to clear that up!)**

 **For you Tribs, 'cause isn't Cato and Clove your OTP?**

-:-

Clove impatiently drummed her fingers against the folds of her flowing, white dress. She tried to shake of the apprehension and worry seeping into her thoughts and mind.

 _What if I miss the cue? What if I trip? Will I be happy? Omg, why am I marrying him? Why am I marrying? What if someone objects? What if. . ._

Clove shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. _I will not mess up_. She comforted herself.

"Nervous?" Glimmer asked while she played with her blonde hair. "It's okay Clove, everything will be alright. But I can't believe you're getting married! And before me!"

Clove normally hated Glimmer's babble, but she couldn't help but let the useless words comfort her in a sense of security. Glimmer had always been her best friend, and she knew what Clove needed, sometimes even more than Clove herself.

"Damn it," Enobraia, dressed in her black bridesmaid dress, cursed. "Where's the groom?"

-:-

(20 long years ago)

Clove stood in the midst of the hallway, oblivious to the cake and drinks outside, but was captivated in the simple games her group of friends always played.

 _Wedding_.

Such an odd game for these little ones. They didn't know of breakups or hatred or manipulation or sex, but they knew of love. The pure, untainted love of Disney fairytales or of their parents outside.

They knew that weddings or marriage was a symbol of love, and they liked pretending they were in love. They liked pretending they were walking down an aisle of an old, wooden church with stain glass letting streaks of colored light through. They liked pretending they were clothed in priceless, silk, pastel dresses - at their real wedding they were going to wear pastel - and was strolling along the petals.

Clove stood next to Annie, who was getting "married," and hooked her arm around the pale girl's as they descended down the steps of Annie's living room.

Glimmer stood on the couch and yelled in a deep, loud voice, "Now let us present the bride Annie Cresta who shall be married to Finnick Odair."

Annie could barely hide her giggles behind the long, sleeves of her mother's stolen dress. Annie could barely image getting married to Finnick, her best friend. They were friends, nothing more. Or nothing more than eight-year-olds could think of.

-:-

Clove could spot Annie's bright, red hair through the crack of the mahogany doors of the chapel. The flaming hair was spilling into the close cropped blonde hair of the person next to her. Clove already knew it was Finnick because, against all of Annie's childhood giggles and laugher and teasing, she had fallen head-over-heels for Finnick. Clove could almost see the glint of Annie's golden engagement ring and could almost taste Annie's never dimming happiness.

She adjusted the long train of her dress so she could turn away from the chapel, and focus her attention of the eternal spew of words falling from Glimmer's mouth as she paced around. The words altered between cursing Cato for being late on the _most important day of his life_ , praying that he'd come faster, and yelling to a God that she would follow him and go to church and do whatever if he'd just bring Cato here in ten minutes.

"Sheesh Glimmer," Katniss said. "By the amount of words coming out of your mouth you'd think this was your wedding."

Clove nodded to Katniss, thankful for the break of silence. As much as Glimmer was her best friend, she could have a problem shutting up and often talked out her feelings.

Clove wiped the sweat that was forming off on her hands, and she paced - or tried her hardest with the long train. "Where is Cato? Where the hell is Cato?"

-:-

(20 long years ago)

An assortment of red petals fluttered and floated down from Katniss' olive hand. The petals had been plucked off of the plastic flowers from the many vases around the house.

"No, no, no!" Clove yelled. She unhooked her entangled arm and ran towards Katniss. "Why are the petals red! They're supposed to be white!"

Katniss leveled her gaze at Clove's mouth turned upwards and said stubbornly, "No, I'm pretty sure the petals can be any color."

"You're wrong! Petals are supposed to be white! To match the red dress!"

Clove could see Annie staring down at her dress, an off pink the color of the morning sky, and smiled, "Clove. You're wrong, silly! A dress can be any color, except black. ' Married in black take yourself back. ' "

Clove threw up her hands, a gesture the little children had seen their parents do multiple times. She felt fed up. She did know more about weddings than the others, she'd been to two. One more than Annie. She knew more! Why were they questioning her?

"My dress" Glimmer pipped up, "is going to be gold at my wedding, not red."

At those words, Clove stomped off into a corner - a childish thing to do. "Red, I'm going to have a red dress." She muttered over and over.

Cato, Clove's other best friend, ran down the 'aisle' carpeted with multiple sheets and stopped in front of her. "No! Petals are supposed to be red, and the dress is supposed to be white! Get your facts straight!"

Clove stood up to full height, barely reaching Cato's ears. "No. _Red_. Dress. _White_. Petals," she said it slowly, as if she was talking to a preschooler.

"White dress, red petals!" Cato argued. "Clove, your wrong."

Finnick left his place at the 'alter' - a T.V. table draped in a brown table cloth - and came to join in the fray. "Gosh, Cato's right. It's supposed to be a white dress!"

Clove, angry and frustrated that they wouldn't listen to her - even over a trivial topic - did the one thing her little mind thought of doing. She tackled Cato.

It wasn't a hard, _I'm-going-to-kill-you tackle_ , more like a _you're-my-brother-so-I-can-tackle-you_ kind. She knocked Cato to the soft carpet before he began to fight back.

Clove and Cato rolled around the room, trying to get the other to agree with each other's opinion about weddings. Instead of using the words like normal eight-year-olds, Cato and Clove continued to yell and roll around the living room.

Enough noise had been made to attract the parents from outside, and soon the adults came bursting through the door, ready to fight whatever happened. They were just in time to see two children rolling on the floor yelling about what color wedding dresses should be.

-:-

Clove smiled at that memory. Cato had purposely chose a white dress for Clove to wear - against her will of course. She had always wanted to wear a red pastel colored dress, but Cato had bought the dress himself, and Clove didn't have the heart to tell Cato to return it.

A figure came running up the steps, his suit untucked, and his skin was covered in a sheet of sweat. "So sorry," Cato breathed. Clove suddenly recalled that he'd been late. She had temporally forgotten that lost in her memory. That evil, little retard had to be late on his wedding day! "Sorry I'm late, Clove."

Before thinking about anything, Clove reached out at slapped Cato across the face. It felt good to relive all her pent up emotions and stress on that slap. The sound of the flesh hitting flesh with a snap sounded almost heavenly to Clove's frustrated ears.

Cato staggered backwards from the force of the blow. Clove may be several inches shorter but she was strong. "What the hell Clove!?"

"I can't believe you're late!" She exclaimed. The slap had relived much of her emotions, and a Clove could only feel the happiness and content seeping back into her heart. Sure, Cato had been late, but at least he was here. Besides, this was her wedding day. Before Cato could defend himself for being late, she pulled him closer. "Well, we have a wedding to continue. Let's go."

She grabbed Cato's hand and burst through the doors. She ignored the shocked stares from the congregation of aunts and uncles. Clove brushed off the whispers and mutters of disbelief and disapproval and only focused on the bright happiness - like a day of sunshine - warming her heart. Sure it wasn't that traditional, but Clove was wearing a white dress. Enough tradition for her.

 **A/N: Stop looking at me like that. Please, stop. Technically, a wedding did go wrong. The little kid wedding. I filled out the prompt.**


	2. Landloper

**Chapter 2: Landloper**

 **Summary** : She was a landloper. A wander, a vagabond, a vagrant, but never an adventurer. / or Katniss wanders the streets after her father's death.

For you Zero, 'cause can.

-:-

Katniss stood outside her house. House was an overstatement, the shelter she lived in was a shack, at best. The wooden roof sagged in the middle, and the once vibrant paint was chipped and dulled. The walls were as thin as paper and could barely keep out cold.

Katniss was lucky that the snow had stopped falling, but it was still colder than ice. Her ratty jacket was patched and threadbare, a thin sheet could rival the amount of warmth it kept in. Though, Katniss was still grateful for the jacket and hugged it closr to her malnourished frame. The jacket reminded her she did have something, however how small and tarnished it may have been.

She trudged along the dirt sidewalk, trying to avoid any slushy snow piles her boots could sink into. She tried to nimbly jump around the frozen rocks and dry, brittle branches - not fit for firewood - but with the cold and little meals she had and her drowned confidence, all Katniss could do was stumble around them.

Something struck her boot, and she lost her footing and fell face first into some cold snow. Shivering, she tried to pull herself up, but it was too much. She groped around for anything - a cold rock, a frozen tree branch, discarded matches, anything - but found nothing but air and cold snow and even colder wood.

She shivered and shivered and shivered and hugged herself for warmth. Wished for warmth but, like the food in her house, there was none.

In the time of wandering, Katniss had a picture in her mind. A picture that bloomed every time she felt a shiver rippled through her small frame, or a rumble from her stomach that could rival any earthquake.

The picture of a little girl, smaller than Katniss herself. Her two braids were the color of gold, brightening the dull house and even duller life. Her blue eyes were warm, unlike Katniss' cold, coal grey eyes, harden by the burdens of life.

That picture kept her going, that picture kept the little girl from staying sprawled in the snow, with no ambition to move. That picture was her hope, because she didn't do it for herself - well, not entirely for herself. It was for Prim.

Katniss cradled that picture in her mind and felt a small flame. A small, small, weak flame of energy ebb into her veins. Katniss turned around and grasped her hands on to the ledge on the house she was leaning against.

She pulled herself up, a long motions that was agonizing slow. Her arms trembled with the effort, but soon she was up, standing on her two, frail legs.

She began her long walk to trudge through the snow to the town with the merchants in it. With their full bellies, she hoped they would give her something. Even a rotten vegetable would be suitable for her empty stomach.

Katniss stumbled through the snow toward the houses filled with light, toward hope. But she was not an adventure, wandering toward a new, exotic land. Hopeful to find new things and visit diverse people. No, she was not that.

She was a weak child. Stumbling through the snow in hope and promise of food. Hungry, cold, and tired, she was no adventure. She was a wander, a vagrant, a vagabond. A landloper.


	3. Surreptitious

**Summary: In the heart of the District Two, she bows her head and prays.**

 **Note: This oneshot contains heavy religious material. If you are easily offended and whatnot please do not read, or you can read it but don't complain over reviews. You have been warned :)**

 **Also, rereading this, it sucks. It really does, and it's super rushed. I really need a beta. Anybody can beta me?**

 **Surreptitious: kept secret, especially it would not be approved of**.

She knows better than to be here. She knows that she shouldn't be surrounded by trees and brambles in the midst of a forest. She most certainly shouldn't be bowing her head at the front of a carved tree, but she is.

Lynn – the Victor of the 60th Games – knows about the consequences of defying the Capitol. She'd seen her parents' remains from the "accidental" forest fire, and her fiance hung for "treason." She'd seen countless tributes – _children_ – dying for the sins of their fathers. She'd seen the blood of the children pour from the weapons she'd weld. She'd felt the lifeblood of their souls coating and dripping from her hands.

She knows the consequences of the treason right now. But she is doing it anyway.

Lynn reaches up to touch the carved wood. The dark brown carving was arranged with a shorter, horizontal stick attached to a long vertical one, a cross. Around the cross people who risked their lives to stand before the cross have laid down flowers and bread and even a few coins.

She bows her head, like a her father had taught her many years ago, and closes her eyes.

Lynn knows that this God won't protect her, and he probably won't even forgive her. Her sins are too great and too many. But she hopes. Oh how she hopes that this God will forgive her. That he will forgive her for all the lives she'd taken, all eight of them, and all the horrible things she'd done behind closed doors and expensive flats.

She mutters the worlds her father had told her to, "God. You are so great and powerful –"

Her voice trembles, and tears poke at her eyes. He definitely won't forgive her. "God, God? Are you there, God? It's me, Lynn. You know. . ."

Lynn couldn't control herself anymore. She burst into tears and sobs. He would never accept her again. "God, God. Please, please, please… forgive me. Please. I know I've done wrong… just. Just- forgive me."

Lynn stayed in that position, kneeling before the carved wood. The symbol of rebellion against the Capitol. The symbol of a greater being; the symbol of hope.

A wind stirs, blowing leaves around and ruffling the trees to bend in the wind. And Lynn swore she heard a voice whisper in the background, "I forgive you."


	4. Flowershop

**A/N: Sorry for being gone forever. I have no excuse besides lack of ambition and lack of inspiration. Sorry! But I probably won't update in a long time, mostly because I want to focus on** ** _A Pound of Feathers._**

 **Written for the Caesar's Palace Summer Camp with the prompt "Flowershop AU"**

 **Words (without AN): 422**

 **Pairing: Gadge**

 **Warning: The following story has been unedited, unbetaed, and hasn't been proofread. This was written in five minutes, so I'm sorry if there's a billion problems... oops. Madge and Gale's relationship is pretty rocky and unexplained... oh well.**

Madge adjusted the lilacs in the white vase. She breathed deeply and sniffed the flowers. Lilacs were her favorite. The bright purple never failed to life her day when she saw it, and lilacs were her mother's best seller.

Her family had owned the flower shop, Undersee's Flowers, since they've immigrated from England in the 1800s, many, many generations ago.

The bell suspended over the door rang. Madge's head snapped up, and she painted on her heart-warming smile.

"Good afternoon, welcome to—" Her voice faltered when she saw who it was. The person, too old to be a boy but too young to be a man, strolled in. His piercing grey eyes and dark hair singled him out from the normal blonde-haired patrons; he was from the Seam, the poorer part of their city.

But it wasn't just any Seam resident, it was Gale. Their relationship was rockier than the coal mines. Some days he told her that she was a "stupid, town, spoiled brat," but other days he would smile at her, maybe even say a kind word. But they both had one thing in common, Katniss, their best friend.

(But, she always had a small crush on him, but don't you dare tell _anyone_.)

Heat flooded her cheeks, and she soon matched the pink roses on the other side of the shop. Madge didn't know what to do: should she bite her tongue and pretend she didn't say anything or keep speaking and pretend she didn't know Gale. Madge's gaze wandered anywhere but where he was, opting for ignoring Gale instead of facing him.

"I need roses." Madge jumped at a husky voice and glanced up, feigning apathy.

"They're over there, by the window." Madge pointed towards the vases and vases of roses over by it, and Gale nodded, an unspoken agreement to made to pretend they don't know each other.

He began to wander towards the flowers when Madge felt a surge of confidence and recklessness. "Gale?" He turned around. "Who are these for?"

"Oh," Gale said nonchalantly while eyeing a red rose, "someone special."

The next day, Madge fingered a blood-red rose left on her desk, a paper note attracted to its thornless stem. _I need a prom date, and Katniss is going with Peeta. So, prom?_

Madge rolled her eyes are the boy's frankness, but she felt a small smile creeping onto her face. The note was desperate, but at least she got something other than hate from him, however small it may be.


End file.
